


Lovely, Dark, and Deep

by zjofierose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Scary, Slow Build, at least a little bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When tragedy befalls the small village of Beacon Hills, Stiles Stilinski may be the only one who can make the journey through the forbidden woods surrounding them to save the life of the man he loves.</p>
<p>Warnings for untreated mental illness, era-appropriate attitudes toward mental illness, and eventual canon-typical violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovely, Dark, and Deep

 

The sky is a high, pale blue; the advent of spring is on the horizon, though there is still a slight chill in the air, even now at the middle of the day. There are birds crying overhead, the sounds of their wings rushing through the air, sending the cirrus clouds scattering to let the sun shine down in brilliant rays.

The post-funeral meal is beginning, but Stiles can hear that Derek Hale is still over near the headstone, speaking softly to his niece. The rustle of the crowd surrounds him, plates and cups knocking into the wooden planks of the long tables, skirts rustling and the strains of low conversation, but he can still hear the low murmur of Derek's voice carrying over the small rise between the little cemetery and the outdoor tables. He hears Derek, he thinks, more than most.

Laura Hale is sitting down to his left a ways, surrounded by the womenfolk of the village. She's still in shock, he thinks; little Cora, Derek's niece, was Laura's only child thus far, in spite of the length of her and Camden Lahey's marriage. It was just an accident; she'd cut her leg in a fall, scraped it down a rusty scythe in the big barn while chasing one of her little friends. She'd been fine at first, but then blood poisoning had set in, and after a couple of days, she'd fallen into a deep sleep and never awakened. Stiles can only imagine what it must be like to lose a child; he'd lost his mother, and that had been bad enough, but he barely remembers her at this point. Laura will remember Cora all her life.

As will Derek, Stiles is sure. They were close, Cora and Derek, in spite of their age difference. He doted on her, and Melissa had shaken her head at how he refused to leave her side through her whole ordeal.

Stiles pokes at the food on his plate. The smell of it is turning his stomach. He waits for a peak in the conversation, and slips away unnoticed.

–

“Stiles?”

“Shh!” Stiles claps his hands over Derek's mouth from behind, noting absently that he's grown his beard out again, and stops his fingers from petting at Derek's cheeks as he shakes his head vigorously. “Kate and I are playing hide and seek. She's thinks I'm off hiding behind the main hall.” He grins quickly, then raises a finger to trace the folded line of skin between Derek's soft eyebrows. “If you make a face like that, it'll stick! Or wait, maybe it's already too late...” He pokes his finger hard into the spot between Derek's eyes, and shrieks as Derek growls and grabs him around the waist, pulling Stiles down next to him.

Derek takes Stiles' hand and presses a finger to his own lips. “I thought you were playing hide and seek? Shhh!”

Stiles' mouth opens in a silent laugh against Derek's warm finger. He crouches down in Derek's shadow, and lets Derek arrange his limbs so that no piece of him is visible from the field. He wills his heart to slow its pounding, his breathing to steady out into silence, and his hearing spread out, past the slow inhale/exhale of Derek's lungs to the birds in the trees, to the sound of the blacksmith's hammer echoing across the little valley between them and the houses.

“Derek?” The voice is high-pitched and laughing, and Stiles freezes where he sits.

“Kate.”

Stiles curses himself internally for not thinking this through. Kate's having a good day; she's exuberant, but not obsessing, not winding herself up into the mania that sometimes rules her nature. But while Stiles is able to tolerate her better than most in the village, her affections for Derek make him extremely uncomfortable in her presence. Even now he can feel the tension thrumming through Derek's leg.

“I'm looking for Stiles.” She giggles again, and Stiles can imagine what her face would feel like under his fingertips; chin tipped down, eyes cast up and widened, lips parted around her teeth. He hears her step closer. “Have you seen him?” She giggles again, a grating affectation.

“No.”

Stiles can't even feel Derek twitch so much as a muscle in Kate's direction.

“C'mon, Derek.” Stiles can hear her take another step. He twitches involuntarily at Derek's side, and Derek presses ever so slightly against his shoulder. “You'll tell me where he is, won't you?” Her voice has gone high and sweet, and Derek's hand on his bicep is like iron.

“Haven't seen him.”

“Well.” Kate's very close now, which means the only thing keeping him from being discovered is his stillness, his silence, and her preoccupation with Derek. “Does that mean we're alone?” Stiles can smell her perfume as she starts to lean in. The scent of it bursts into little peach flowers that dance along the edges of his vision. He wants to reach out a finger to touch them, but he doesn't; the things he sees are so rarely touchable.

“Kate!  _Kate_ , where are you?”

Kate sighs in annoyance and stomps a booted foot. Stiles would dance a jig if it wouldn't give him away.

“Kate! Time to come in!” Victoria Argent's voice is loud and commanding, and Kate turns, scuffing her feet sulkily as she steps away. The little flowers bounce and bob gently in her wake as she turns.

“Coming!”

There's the sound of her running feet, and then silence surrounds them again, in which Stiles can hear Derek's slow and careful breaths, nearly drowned out by the rushing of the blood in his ears.

He waits till he's sure she's long gone before he hauls himself to his feet, steadying himself with a hand on Derek's shoulder. The fabric under his fingers is warm from the sun, soft from repeated washings. Derek's eyes are green, today, the color of the leaves around them and flickering with gold. Stiles used to wonder what color Derek's eyes seem to everyone else, but he's decided he doesn't care. They're always beautiful when he sees them.

“I'm sorry.”

Derek's shoulder moves beneath his hand in a shrug.

“I can't always avoid her.”

Stiles laughs ruefully. There are only sixty some souls in the village, and only ten or so around their own age. Derek's very right. Kate is a complication that will not be easily ignored for long.

“No. But I could have not brought her straight to you.” Stiles drags his booted toe in the leaf litter of the orchard, feeling childish and a little embarrassed.

“Hey.” Derek grasps his hand and raises it to settle on his face so that Stiles can feel him smile softly. “I'm not angry with you.”

Stiles can't help but smile back. He hasn't felt Derek's smile once in the weeks since Cora's death. He's missed the shape of it beneath his fingertips.

“Derek.” Derek's eyebrows go up in query under Stiles' touch. He sighs, lets his voice go soft. “Are you alright?”

Derek's face falls and turns, his hands coming to to pull at Stiles' wrists, moving his hands away from Derek's skin so that Stiles can't read his expression, can only see the colors of Derek's face changing to dark greys. Derek takes a deep breath.

“I miss her every day.”

Derek still has hold of his hands, so Stiles just nods.

“I keep thinking... if only there was something we could have done. If we could have stopped the fever, if we could have slowed the infection.” Derek's grip on his fingers is tight, but Stiles isn't about to step away. “I heard Melissa say to your father that...” Derek lets his voice trail off, and when he begins again he's nearly whispering. “She said that in the towns, there's medicine that could have helped. But we have none.” He lets Stiles go, but Stiles doesn't move an inch. “What if we went to the towns? What if we asked for their help, bartered for it? Surely they'd help us, give us enough medicines that we wouldn't need any contact with them for many years more.”

Stiles shudders involuntarily, the lively greens and yellows of the forest around them sliding into dingy, sick-looking shades with his sudden anxious thoughts.

“But what of the Hunters? We are forbidden to cross the woods by our truce with those who would hunt us down.” He feels his head swim at the thought of it. The Hunters, with their black costumes, their blank masks, their terrifying and deadly weapons.

Derek shrugs. “I have never seen any evidence of the Hunters with my own two eyes. All I know of them is children's stories and the fears of excitable young men. I am not afraid of them.”

“You're as crazy as Kate to think you can just stroll through the woods and be left alone.” Stiles' hands twist in the air before him, unable to keep still at the thought. “You'll be shot! And then where will we be? Even if you go with a white flag, you think they'll spare you on their territory just because you want medicines?” He clutches a hand into the shoulder of Derek's shirt, letting the feel of the fabric beneath his fingers soothe him.

He breathes for a moment, listening to Derek wait for him. He can see a thousand images in front of him; the masked face of a hunter, twenty feet tall; Derek's body fallen to the ground and white as death, brought low by a Hunter's bullet; Derek's laughing face as it blooms with the colors of joy; the way Cora's body looked in her coffin, still, white, and without a single color or breath.

Derek is not afraid. He is steady, and sure, and fearless, and it is one of the many, many things which Stiles loves about him. Derek is not afraid.

“Go. Speak to the Council.” Stiles sighs. “I will help you in any way I can.”

\--

It's chilly in the Town Hall. Derek remembers when it was first built, the way the men struggled to set the high beams, to make and place the high windows. He was little then, newly six and curious, continually shooed out from underfoot as the grownups did the heavy labor. They'd done a good job, for none of them having been trained. The hall has stood for fifteen years now, without so much as a wobble. If you look closely at the windows, you can still bubbles in the glass panes where their early inexperience shows.

It's the first Council meeting since Cora's death six weeks ago, and he's composed his words over a dozen times, trying to get it right. Stiles teases him about it, his need to have it all just so, because Derek's not that way with Stiles, can be easy, calm, carefree. Had been, before Cora. But Stiles doesn't see it, doesn't see him with the other adults. Derek may be older than Stiles, but he's a still a younger brother, the younger son. He just wants to fix things, wants to make them right. He doesn't always feel that he can stop the things that come spilling out of his hands, that he can right the things that he inevitably does wrong, but he wants to try. He wants to make things better.

Sometimes Derek feels trapped here, older than the kids behind him, too young to be accepted by the other adults. Kate's the closest to his age, nineteen to his twenty-one, but her condition makes her forever younger and unpredictable, which chafes on his need to make his world safe and sensible. Stiles and Scott and Allison are next, all at five years younger and turning seventeen, nominally adults now, but they were all toddlers when Beacon Hills was founded, they remember nothing of the towns. Laura and Camden are his elders by twelve years, the closest in age above him, and became adults in the towns that were left behind, choosing of their own free will to leave the corruption and danger to make a new life on the hills at the edge of their little valley.

Mr. Yukimura is droning on, listing the productions of the orchard and fields. It's nearing the end of the summer harvest, and Beacon Hills has been subsumed by the process of food storage; pickling, canning, salting, drying, preserving. He's taken the last week off from his work in the smithy to help Laura catch up on the work she'd lost to Cora's illness. His fingertips are still scalded from the hot glass of the jars. Stiles has made himself scarce, and Derek knows that it chafes him to be unable to help with so many tasks in spite of being able-bodied, but his visions make it impossible for him to assist with any task where he might injure himself. The hot jars of canning, the sharp knives of preparing the vegetables and meat, all of these are forbidden him.

“We have one final item of business today, my friends.” There's a general murmur from the assembled elders in the room. Apparently Mr. Yukimura had not shared his request with the rest of the Council. Derek steels his nerves, straightens his shirt. “Mr. Hale has requested to address the Council. Mr. Hale? If you would step forward?”

Derek stands, the weight of every pair of eyes on him. He's known these people since childhood, is friends with most of their children. Chris and Victoria Argent, John Stilinski and Melissa McCall Stilinski. Ken and Noshiko Yukimura, Alan Deaton, Bobby Finstock, Natalie Martin. He clears his throat, unfolds his paper.

“I would like to request the Council's permission” he pauses, looks around at the expectant expressions. “I would like to request the Council's permission to cross through the woods and go to the towns.” He can hear the collective intake of breath around the room, so he rushes forward, opening his hands in front of him. “I wish to go to the towns and collect medicines for our benefit. Cora's death could have been prevented. I want to spare us this pain again. Surely they cannot deny us such simple needs. Surely we have something we can give them in return.” He realizes he's raised his voice, and drops his hands, folding them in front of himself as he waits for the murmured furor to die down.

“What madness is this? This boy is a fool! He's got nothing between his ears but butterflies and daffodils!” Finstock is sputtering, his hands pressed to the surface of the large wooden table as he hovers half out of his chair. “He'd put us all in danger just because he's too big of a confounded idiot to not be afraid? I won't have it! You hear me? I won't!”

“Now, Bobby, settle down.” The sheriff's voice cuts through the din, and his weathered hand on Finstock's shoulder pushes the man reluctantly back into his seat. “Let's discuss this properly. We owe the boy that much.” He smiles kindly at Derek, and looks over at his wife. “Melissa, is it true? Could Cora Hale's death have been prevented?”

Silence falls as Nurse McCall tucks a strand of her dark hair behind an ear.

“It's hard to say, really.” Whispers begin to rise again. She spreads her hands in a calming gesture, and speaks up. “These things are never sure. It is possible, had we certain drugs, that we could have countered the infection, or lowered her fever enough that she could have fought it off. However, medicine is never a guarantee. Her condition was serious, and medicines from the towns may have made little or no difference.”

Noshiko Yukimura speaks next, her soft voice slicing through the quiet rustling. “What percentage of the ailments which you treat do you believe could be helped by a wider selection of medicines? Do you frequently treat patients who would benefit from outside involvement?”

Melissa thinks for a moment, then rolls her shoulders in thought. “Again, it's hard to say. On the one hand, the towns have medicines to remove pain, to treat minor illnesses. Certainly we could use those, but they are not necessary, either. Simply convenient. In terms of medicines that would make a substantial difference in the patient's health or well-being? Maybe once or twice a year.”

“So, you would say that you have seen cases where medicines would have made a substantial difference approximately fifteen times between the founding of the town and today? That is correct?”

Melissa tips her head side to side before nodding. “Yes, I think that's a reasonable approximation. And of course, we must also remember that though they may have made a difference, in all but Cora's case, the patients did eventually recover.”

“I believe I could travel there in a day, and then travel back as soon as my business was completed. If I go in the daylight, unarmed, I do not think that the Hunters will do me harm.” The group is talking amongst themselves, so he raises his voice. “Please. Let me do this on our behalf.”

The sheriff bangs his hand on the table, bringing the sounds in the room to an abrupt halt. He stands, smiles at Derek kindly.

“Derek, we appreciate you bringing this concern to us. I'm sure you understand that we must discuss this amongst ourselves.” Derek nods. Whether he understands or not is irrelevant. The Council will take their time. “We will let you know when we've reached a decision.”

Stilinski sits back down, and Derek dips his head. He's been dismissed.

–

Derek finds Stiles two days later sitting on the edge of his porch, kicking his legs back and forth and raising a cloud of dust. Stiles' face turns unerringly to track Derek's progress as he comes to settle next to him on the bare boards, but he's uncharacteristically quiet, his wide mouth stubbornly shut as Derek sits beside him. The only sound is the repetitious thud-thud-thud of Stiles' dirty bare heels against the wood and the soft whoosh of their breaths.

Derek waits.

“They found another one.” Stiles' voice is tight and quiet, and Derek reaches out a hand to rub up and down Stiles' back like he would when they were children.

“Another what?”

“Another body. A dead body. A rabbit, killed and left in the middle of the orchard. This one had silver bullets instead of an arrowhead, but it's the same.” He shudders, his heels kicking more frantically, and Derek thinks as he often does that he is glad to not know what images pass before Stiles' vision much of the time. “It's the Hunters, it's got to be, but they've never come into the village before without a reason, Derek. What's their reason?” His eyes are big in his long face, staring unseeingly into Derek's own. “What's their reason?”

Derek keeps his hand going, up and down, up and down. “Breathe, Stiles,” he says, and Stiles turns his face away and concentrates on slowing his feet, on breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth.

“There must be something going on which we are not aware of. Someone trespassing in the woods, but saying nothing.” Derek keeps his voice low and steady. Stiles hasn't had a panic attack in years, but they were common when he was small, and they all moved to the village, and then again, when his father had married Melissa McCall. For all that Stiles loves Melissa, and was overjoyed to have Melissa's son, Stiles' best friend, as his brother, he's never dealt well with change.

Stiles didn't have the attacks when his occasional waking dreams settled into daily hallucinations, and then finally into a state where he lives as though blind, not trusting anything he sees, but relying on his senses of touch and hearing, smell and presence. But maybe that change was gradual enough not to trigger them. Or maybe, Derek thinks, he was experienced enough by that point to hide them.

“It's as you say; they've never come into the village before without a reason.” Derek shrugs. “They'll figure out the reason.”

Stiles sighs. “I don't like it, Derek. They mean us ill.” His feet are still going, but in the normal absent-minded way in which Stiles is always in motion, not the unchecked urgency of before.

Derek lets his hand drop from Stiles' back to the porch floor.

“I will let nothing harm you.”

Stiles nods absently, his eyes tracking something out in the grass, visible only to him.

“I know.”

–

“I heard you went to the Council.”

Derek stills, his feet just across the kitchen threshold in the house he shares with his sister and her husband. Laura has her back to him, the bow of her apron tight and high at the waistline of her dress.

“I did.”

“And what did you say to them?”

Her voice is flat, calm, and he thinks she must already know. She reminds him fiercely of their mother when she's like this, powerful and determined and beautiful. He hasn't looked at the photos in their dark locked box in years, but he doesn't need to. Laura's the spitting image of their mother as he remembers her, cut down in her prime with their father when Derek was just five years old.

He takes a deep breath, sets the basket of apples he's holding on the table to his left. “I asked for permission to go through the woods to the towns.”

“Why?” Her voice is still steady, but the dish she's washing is nearly creaking in protest at her grip.

Derek sighs. “Because I want to bring back medicines. Because I don't want someone else to die like Cora died.”

Laura drops the mug into the sink basin where it shatters and turns to face him eyes hard and mouth set.

“How dare you.” Derek takes an involuntary step back. “How  _dare_ you use the death of my daughter against me.” She takes a step toward him, wiping her hands on her striped apron as she advances. “You think that you going and getting your stupid hide shot by the Hunters is going to make anything any better? You think that depriving me of my last remaining family member is somehow going to  _fix things_ ?”

“What, you'd rather we all stay here in Beacon Hills and die one by one, just because of some accident, or some fever?” Derek's not sure why he's yelling, but he's nearly certain he's not capable of stopping if he tried. “You think it's acceptable that we just let people, let little girls  _die_ , because we're all too scared, because we've let our  _fear_ of some” he waves his hands futilely “some made-up boogie-men trap us here like sitting ducks?”

Laura slaps him, hard.

“You will never speak of this foolishness to me again, Derek Hale, do you hear me?” Her voice is cold, whiplash tight.

“ _I'm not afraid_ , Laura.”

She grips his chin in her long fingers, stares him in the eyes.

“No. But I am.”

She rips her apron off, throws it to the floor, and stalks out of the room.

\--

“I heard you had a fight with Laura.”

It's well after dark, the moon high and full in the night sky. The crickets are singing in the long grass of the valley in front of them where they sit on the edge of the Stilinski porch.

“Did you.”

“Well.” Stiles laughs quietly. “I heard you  _have_ a fight with Laura, technically.”

Derek smacks him lightly on the back of the head. “Eavesdropping is an unattractive habit.”

Stiles punches him in the arm, his aim unerring in the way it always is with Derek.

“Asshole. Not like I could help it, you weren't exactly quiet.” His face draws itself into more serious lines, and he rubs unthinkingly at the spot on Derek's arm which he had just punched. “You alright?”

Derek sighs, leans forward to scrub his hands over his face.

“Yeah. I never meant to upset her.” Stiles makes a soothing noise, and he shakes his head in irritation. “I'm just trying to help. And you know, they all got to make the choice to come here. They got to decide to live without medicines that can save lives. It was their choice.” He stands up suddenly, leaving Stiles on the edge of the porch as he paces back and forth. “I didn't choose it. I didn't get a choice. But as soon as I mention that I might want to leave...”

Stiles' face in the moonlight is stricken.

“You'd leave? Just like that?”

“No, Stiles, that's not what I meant.” He pushes back to stand in front of Stiles, cups his pale face in his own broad hands. “I'd come back.”

“Would you though?” Stiles' eyes are dark and unblinking, the silvery moonlight leaching them of their sunny color. Derek wonders, sometimes, how much of what Stiles sees is real. It can't be much, he knows that, but he always feels like Stiles watches him, sees him, knows him. “Or would you stay there, where things are easier? Where you have a choice?”

Derek leans his head down until Stiles' eyes flicker closed, until their foreheads are pressed together.

“My life is here. I would only go to get help, and then I would come back as swiftly as I could.” He takes a breath, filling his lungs with the warm night air, the scent of the fields, of dirt, of Stiles.

Stiles takes a shuddering breath and nods, fingers opening and closing absently where his hands have locked on to Derek's wrists.

“Scott has proposed to Allison.” Stiles' voice is soft enough that Derek has to strain to hear it, even as close as he is. “They are to be married at the end of the fortnight.”

“I hope they are very happy together.”

Stiles ignores him. “It's to be a big wedding. Allison and Lydia are already planning it. Because of the recent fears, they say. Something to take our minds off it. Food, and song, and dancing late into the night.”

Derek nods.

“Derek.” Stiles takes a breath. “Will you dance with me? Will you dance with me at Scott's wedding?” Derek opens his mouth, but Stiles lays a finger across his lips. “And when we are married, will you dance with me then, too?”

The stars are very bright around him, and Derek can hear the song of each individual cricket, see each freckle on Stiles' light-struck face.

Derek wraps his hand around Stiles' finger, and pulls it from his mouth.

“I will dance with you at every wedding, Stiles.” His voice is shaking, but he can't bring himself to care. “And I will always come back to you.”

–

“Stiles! Stiles!”

Stiles turns from where he's walking with Scott. Kate's voice is coming from behind them, but quickly getting louder, which means she's coming quickly. Sure enough, when he turns he sees her flying toward them, vast dark wings outstretched and reaching as she skids to a halt in front of them, kicking up a plume of dust that hovers in the air around them, waiting.

“Stiles, look!” She's out of breath panting, and he can feel the heat radiating off her body from the running and the late summer sun. She grabs his hand in hers, turning it over to open his palm so that she can tip three small items into it.

Stiles' blood goes cold.

“Kate, where did you get these.” She gasps as he grips her wrist and shakes her by the arm. “Is there another dead animal? Where did you get these?”

He can hear Scott's deathly silence beside him, which only confirms what the cool, regular shape of the heavy objects in his palm have already told him. These are not a hallucination; there are three silver bullets in his hand.

Kate's pouting now, he can hear it in her voice. “I found them in the woods. I'm going to give them to Derek.” She giggles. “He's not afraid of the Hunters. He'll like my present, and then we'll be married.” The sudden image of Kate in a blood-drenched white dress, her faced painted with navy markings covers his vision, and he closes his eyes against the sight instinctively, even though it makes little difference.

“Kate, listen to me.” He's gripping her arm hard enough that she's squirming, but he can't loosen his grasp. He presses the silver bullets back into her hand. “These are very, very dangerous. Do you hear me? These could get us all killed.” He can hear her start to sniffle, her excitement souring in the face of his anger and fear. “You take these to your father, right now, do you understand? Right now. And tell him how you got them. We are all in danger, you must do this immediately.”

“But... but Derek...”

Stiles inwardly curses his lack of sight. He will be no help in hunting down Chris Argent, even if he wants to march Kate to her father himself.

“Scott, go with her. Make sure that she goes straight to Mr. Argent.”

Kate's crying now, full-out sniveling sobs, the white dress melting in front of him as she cries. He gets a brief moment of what he thinks must be reality, pretty Kate with her disheveled blonde hair in front of a bucolic field, shakes his head again, and sees mist rising ominously from the woods as Scott nods in the corner of his eye. Scott doesn't like her much, but he can suck it up, Stiles thinks, for the sake of all their safety.

“C'mon, Kate. Let's go find your Pa.”

He can feel Scott take her by the arm, so he releases his grip on her, and staggers over to the steps of the Town Hall, where he sits and puts his head between his knees for a moment as he listens to them walk away.

Derek was right. The Hunters had had a reason, alright.

Kate.

\--

“Scott, stop fussing, you look fine.” Stiles flops back on his bed in their shared room, flinging a hand over his eyes to avoid watching Scott adjust his tie yet again. It's gone through four colors in the time Stiles has been watching, that's how long Scott's been fiddling.

Scott shoots him a dubious look from across the room. “How would you know?”

“Hey!” Stiles sits up, offended.

“Sorry,” Scott winces, taking his hands off the offending fabric and flinging himself down on the bed next to Stiles. “I didn't mean it. I'm just scared. What if she backs out? Or regrets saying yes? Or—”

“She won't.” Stiles reaches out and thumps Scott solidly on the chest. “She loves you. She's in love with you. You two have been in love since we were tiny children, Scott, come on.” He huffs out a breath, and fumbles around the bedspread until he can capture Scott's sweaty palm in his own. “And I know your stupid tie is fine because Melissa tied it for you.”

Scott sighs. “Yeah.”

“Come on.” Stiles heaves himself upright and pulls his jacket off the back of the chair in the corner, then holds it up for Scott to see. “This the right one?” It's currently a lovely shade of marigold and faintly shimmering, but it feels like the right one under his fingers.

“Yep.” Scott nods. “Put it on, and let's go!” He grins broadly, slamming open the door to their room. “Don't wanna be late!”

“That's the spirit!” Stiles shoves his arms into the sleeves and catapults himself down the stairs behind Scott, eyes closed so he doesn't see them gape beneath him. “Let's get you married!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> So! This is the first WIP I've posted in a long time! 
> 
> This is fic is written as part of the [Sterek Big Bang](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/STEREK_BIG_BANG), and I am sincerely very sorry to have not completely finished it on time. My job got insane over the last couple months of the challenge, and I dropped the ball. However! It's all outlined, and mostly written, so it will get done. Bits of this first chapter may get tweaked, or have things added, so don't get too attached to how it is right now, but I wanted to post something instead of having to drop out. 
> 
> The very lovely art for this fic [can be found here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3460268), courtesy of the wonderful @thecheekydragon who put up with a great deal of bullshit from me in the process of creating this fic. (Sorry!) Go check it out!
> 
> For those of you not familiar with the movie The Village, this story is going to follow it pretty closely- it's kind of a "love it or hate it" movie, and I loved it, so I wanted to write a Village AU for Sterek, and though the process has been more of a pain than I bargained for, I still love the idea. If you ARE familiar with The Village, you'll notice some things have been changed, but not hugely.
> 
> With regard to the portrayal and condition of Kate and Stiles- [The Village](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Village_\(2004_film\)) is set in the late 1800s, as is this fic, so there's not necessarily a lot of talk about or understanding of mental illness. I'm writing Kate as though she has rather severe and (obviously) untreated bi-polar disorder; the character she's loosely based on in the movie is more severely impaired than Kate, and it's unclear what his disability actually is (other than "useful to the plot"). Stiles' character in the movie is actually blind, but in this adaptation I've decided to make him suffer from frequent and strong hallucinations. This makes him in a lot of ways *functionally* blind, since he can't trust most of what he sees, but does mean that he does still have the sense of sight.


End file.
